


All's Fair

by alleyesonthehindenburg



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Gen, LGBTQ Character, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 02:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16076381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleyesonthehindenburg/pseuds/alleyesonthehindenburg
Summary: The next time Hawkeye gets a concussion, Trapper's taping his mouth shut. For now he just has to deal with Hawkeye outing himself to their entire poker game.





	All's Fair

**Author's Note:**

> kind of a spiritual cousin to my west wing pride month fic, in that it's very queer and i couldn't be bothered to proofread

It happens at the worst possible moment, and if that’s not typical of the whole goddamn war then what is.

Henry, Radar and Klinger are gathered around the Swamp's makeshift poker table. Trapper's dealing, Hawkeye's sleeping off a concussion and Ferret-Face is sitting in bed, thumbing through his bible and muttering about degenerates. They’ve been shooting the breeze for hours, not really bothering to keep track of the pot, and the conversation has come around, as it always does, to women.

Trapper didn’t even realise Hawk was awake. He wasn’t supposed to be, but of course the damn fool did everything he could to prove the old adage that doctors made the worst patients.Trap just knows he’s busy joking with the guys, taking the piss out of Radar over his extensive experience with women, and then he’s diving across the Swamp, narrowly avoiding the stove and slapping a hand over Hawk's mouth.

The tent has fallen dead silent, and all Trapper can hear is his own racing heartbeat. Hawkeye is staring up at him, blue eyes wide and guileless in a way that tugs at Trapper's heartstrings. Trapper hadn’t even registered what exactly Hawk had said, just that it was something he _should not be saying_. Something about the difference between kissing a woman and kissing a man, something that could be played off as a joke at any other time - any other time, with Hawkeye's boisterous laugh ringing through the camp to save the day - but not when his brain was so fogged that he’d complimented Frank's surgical skills earlier. They’re all medical men here. They all know what it sounds like when a secret is let slip by drug-loosened lips.

The damage is done already, and Trapper lowers his hand from Hawk's mouth. Immediately the man starts talking, in halting, disjointed starts and stops, still looking up with his brow furrowed. "I thought - I didn’t, I said, you said - “

“I know, Hawk.”

“You said it, you were okay with it - “

“I am, Hawk. Please go to sleep, okay?”

The confusion is still clear in Hawk's gaze, but he nods, settling back on his pillow and closing his eyes. Satisfied that at least he wouldn’t be condemning himself further, Trapper straightens, squares his shoulders, and turns. Four men - three and a half, really, considering Radar - maybe just three, given Klinger - stare back at him, mouths agape. “Gentlemen,” Trapper says. “Are we gonna have a problem?”

Radar is the first to snap out of it, bless him, shaking his head vigorously. “No, sir! Not from me, sir. I mean - wow, really, sir?”

Trapper ignores the last part, turning his gaze on Klinger. The corporal just shrugged. “I’m wearing a garter belt. You think anyone’s getting discharged on my say-so?”

Good enough. But Frank is next, and old Ferret-Face does hate to disappoint. “This is outrageous,” he snaps, bible falling to the ground as he stands. “You can’t expect me to sleep in the same tent as that - that degenerate!”

“Real original, Frank, never heard that one before,” Trapper says. There’s an edge to his tone that belies the lightness of his words, and Trapper wonders just how far he'll go to protect Hawkeye. Pretty damn far, he thinks. When he was drafted, he never thought he could laugh so hard in the middle of a war.

"Oh, you.” Frank's weasely little features are twisted up with contempt, and he tosses a sneer in Hawkeye's direction that makes Trapper see red for a split second. “Colonel, you heard what he said! Do something!”

Henry looks up from the cards he’s been studying intensely, and Trapper holds his breath. For all their accusations of spinelessness, Henry is a good man, and has proved it time and time again; still, Trapper doesn’t breathe again until Henry says wearily, “Heard who say what, major?”

“You -! He just admitted to, to - “

“To what, major?”

Frank's whole face turns bright red, and he splutters for a few more seconds before stomping out of the tent, slamming the door behind him. Trapper's shoulders sag, and he scrubs a hand along his face. The rough scrape of stubble reminds him that he’s going on about four hours of sleep, followed by fourteen of surgery. “Thanks, Henry,” he says, dropping heavily into his chair.

Henry has his face propped up on his hands; he groans, and then looks up, sighing. “You know he’s gonna go straight to Houlihan.”

“Fuck.” Trapper stayed seated for another minute, briefly contemplating falling asleep where he sat. Then he stood, reaching to grab his winter coat. He spared a second to be vindictively pleased that Frank had left his behind in his rush. Henry was up too, blindly shoving his arms into the sleeves of his coat, and Trapper was grateful for the backup. “You two keep an eye on Hawk, okay?”

Klinger salutes, his attention already returned to the deck of cards. “I think I win this hand by default,” he says, and Trapper rolls his eyes, making to step out of the tent.

On a whim, he glances back at Hawkeye’s cot, and finds those blue eyes staring back at him. Before he can say anything, Hawkeye croaks out, “Sorry, Trap,” sounding about as miserable as he looks.

Trapper’s pretty sure the guy has no idea what he’s apologising for. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”

Frank’s high-pitched wailing could practically replace reveille as a wake-up call, but luckily it’s impossible to tell what exactly he’s whining about until Trapper’s practically pressed up to the side of Hot Lips’ tent. He knocks twice, and doesn’t wait for permission to enter, barging in with Henry right behind him. Frank squeaks and hops back, and immediately he and Trapper are shouting at each other.

It’s Margaret’s sharp voice that gets them to shut up. The major has her arms crossed, scowling ferociously under her hair curlers. “What the hell is the meaning of this?”

“Pierce is a pervert,” Frank hisses. Only Henry’s grip on Trapper’s arm keep him from diving after the little rat. “He’s a homosexual – he said it himself! That’s why they’re here, is to stop me telling you! They expect me to be okay with it, Margaret! They expect me to share a _tent_ with him!”

The longer he speaks, the more high-pitched his voice becomes, the world’s most irritating crescendo. Henry’s waving his arms about uselessly, telling everyone to calm down. Margaret steps as far back as she can in the tiny tent, viciously shaking Frank’s grasping paws off her, and yells, “Shut up!”

It’s impressive that such a loud noise can come from such a tiny thing.

“Shut up,” she repeats. “Frank, what is it you expect me to do?”

“Well – back me up, Margaret! Write to the general, any general! Get him discharged!”

Houlihan lifts a hand, cutting off Henry’s protestations. “What good would that do?”

“What - what?”

“I mean it, Frank, tell me, what good would that do?”

Frank just stands there, gaping, as if the answer is perfectly obvious. Trapper starts to cut in, but Houlihan raises her hand again, and something about the intensity of her expression has Trapper shutting up.

“I’m not writing the general about this,” she says. “Not any of them.”

“But - Margaret!”

“But what, Frank? I’m supposed to help you get the finest surgeon in the outfit discharged? Even if the veritable army of nurses willing to say Captain Pierce is certainly _not_ homosexual doesn’t help, what then? We’re down a pair of hands in the O.R. just so you can sleep better?”

Normally Trapper would say something about how stupid Frank looks right now, but he’s pretty sure he’s got the exact same expression on his face. Frank stammers out, “You really - “

“Get out, Frank.”

“You think he’s a better surgeon than me?”

“Out!”

Ferret-Face doesn’t wait around, racing out the door, and Trapper wonders where he’ll go. Probably not back to the Swamp. Maybe if they’re lucky he’ll sleep outside and get pneumonia and be sent back to the states and out of their hair. Henry’s already beating a hasty retreat, and Trapper makes to follow him when Houlihan grabs his arm. “Captain,” she says. “I’m not going to make any trouble, but the next time Pierce gets a concussion - “

“I’ll tape his mouth shut myself,” Trapper promises fervently.

Houlihan nods, lip twisting in a way that could almost be a comradely smile. Trapper’s just turned away again when she renews her grip on his arm and says, “Really, though, Pierce?”

Trap’s frozen for a second, looking Houlihan in the eye, unsure of what to say. It’s Hawkeye’s secret to share, but Frank’s already blown that out of the water, and after she stood up for Hawkeye, even if Trapper couldn’t for the life of him figure out why - “He swings both ways,” Trap says truthfully. Houlihan nods, and they exchange awkward goodnights before Trapper steps out into the cold.

Klinger’s just dealing out another hand when Trapper stumbles into the Swamp. Henry’s already there, yawning as he checks out his cards. Hawkeye looks to be properly asleep at last, judging by his breathing, and Radar’s on his way, although he’s still clutching his cards tightly. For a split second, Trapper wonders if the last half hour even happened, or if he just hallucinated it.

“Hey,” Klinger says, tapping the table. He’s raked in a lot of chips since they left, probably because Radar only pretends to understand the rules of the game. “In or out?”

Outside, wind gusts against the tent. Hawkeye’s snoring softly, and Trapper wonders how long they have before more choppers come in.

“In.”


End file.
